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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26923573">Said I loved you (but I lied)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68'>earlgreytea68</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Schrodingerverse [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fall Out Boy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>COVID, Coronavirus, Depression, M/M, Pandemics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:48:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26923573</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When Pete was younger he thought there was no reason for his swooping moods. Now he thinks that everything is a reason.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Schrodingerverse [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>112</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Said I loved you (but I lied)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this over the summer and didn't post it and the world moves so quickly these days that now it seems quaint and dated. So pretend this is the state of the pandemic as of July...</p>
<p>Thank you to carbon for looking this over!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Pete was younger he thought there was no reason for his swooping moods. Now he thinks that <em>everything</em> is a reason. Every little tiny thing. The way Patrick is <em>breathing</em> can be a reason, which is ridiculous, Pete loves the fact that Patrick breathes, Pete would be lost without Patrick’s breathing, and he <em>knows</em> that, objectively, somewhere in the far distance, covered in fuzziness, unreachable, that’s where that knowledge lives. <em>You love Patrick so much</em>, Pete reminds himself, but sometimes it feels hollow, because Patrick’s <em>breathing</em> is bothering him.</p>
<p>But it’s not like suddenly Patrick’s breathing tips Pete over a precipice, it’s that he’s been standing on that precipice for days, or maybe weeks. Maybe it dates to the fight with Tennyson over his birthday party, or lack thereof. Pete gets it, he’s tired of the pandemic, too, and birthday parties mean so much to little kids, like, birthday parties mean a lot to <em>Pete</em>, but he didn’t throw a tantrum, did he? And isn’t Tennyson too old for tantrums at this point?</p>
<p>Tennyson doesn’t take kindly to any of these cogent points Pete makes. He yells and cries and slams doors and Pete tries in vain to impose order like it’s not too late to turn into a fucking disciplinarian now, and Patrick sits warily in the living room, listening to the battle rage, and suddenly that infuriates Pete, too.</p>
<p>“You could <em>help</em>,” he snaps.</p>
<p>“You could drop it,” Patrick suggests.</p>
<p>“I could <em>what</em>?” Pete yelps. “You want us to have a party? <em>You</em>? The one who still won’t let me go play tennis because you think I’m going to catch covid from a tennis ball?” Okay, that still bothers Pete, maybe <em>that</em> disagreement is where this mood started.</p>
<p>Patrick flinches. “You realize you sound exactly like your son, right? Freaking out over people trying to keep you safe?”</p>
<p>Pete jerks his head in disagreement. “That’s different.”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh.” Patrick’s tone is that wry <em>you’re wrong and I’m right but I will be the bigger person and not push it </em>tone that Pete fucking hates. “We can’t have a birthday party for him. Obviously. But maybe you should stop poking him with what a better person you are because <em>you</em> didn’t demand a quarantine birthday party and <em>you</em> didn’t sulk and <em>you</em> understand science. He’s a hurt kid and you’re making it worse insisting he shouldn’t be a hurt kid.”</p>
<p>“I’m making it worse?” Pete is hotly indignant.</p>
<p>“Let’s not have a fight,” Patrick sighs, rubbing at his temples. “Is there any possibility we can avoid this fight you’ve been picking for days?”</p>
<p>“I haven’t been picking a fight for days,” Pete denies, and tries to think if his mood has been brewing that long.</p>
<p>“Pete,” Patrick says, in that <em>stupid fucking tone of voice</em>.</p>
<p>“I hate when you do that, you know,” Pete snaps.</p>
<p>“When I do what?”</p>
<p>“Act so fucking <em>right</em>,” Pete spits out.</p>
<p>“Fine, let’s have the fight, what do you want to fight about?” Patrick retorts flatly.</p>
<p>“This,” Pete rejoins. “We’re fighting about this. This whole thing.” Pete waves his hand nonsensically around the room. He doesn’t want to make sense. He wants to outrun this mood nipping at his heels, he wants Patrick to yell at him and beat it back with sparking flames. Sometimes if Pete can stay balanced on the sharp edge of anger, he can keep the whole mood at bay for days, and that can feel like a win.</p>
<p>“I don’t even know what you want me to say,” Patrick says, exasperated.</p>
<p>“Something mean! Why the fuck don’t you know how to fight!”</p>
<p>“I know how to fucking fight with you, Pete, trust me.” It’s that <em>stupid tone</em> again. “It’s just that this is not a good fight. This is not a real fight. Can you just sit still for a second?”</p>
<p>He’ll vibrate out of his skin if he sits still. “No. Christ, you’re so endlessly condescending, all smug and, like, <em>together</em> over there.” Pete waves at him. “It’s so fucking annoying. Don’t you ever want to strangle the life out of me?”</p>
<p>“Virtually every day,” Patrick mumbles.</p>
<p>“Ah, yes, this is another way in which you are superior to me,” remarks Pete. “You wouldn’t have lost your temper with Tennyson just like you never lose your temper with me.”</p>
<p>“I lose my temper with you all the time,” Patrick tells him. “You’re in a mood right now, there is literally nothing I can say that’s going to be the right thing.”</p>
<p>“Shut up,” Pete bites out between his teeth, and then, because Pete feels itchy and unsatisfied, he grabs for his car keys and stalks out of the house. He doesn’t know where he’s going to fucking <em>go</em>, because this fucking pandemic is so fucking annoying, but he has to get out of this house before the walls close in on him and he can’t <em>breathe</em>.</p>
<p>Patrick’s car is parked behind his. Son of a bitch. He wheels back inside, only Patrick’s already at the door, because of course Patrick knew his car was blocking Pete’s, Patrick knows <em>everything</em>, Patrick always has everything under control and Patrick never has a meltdown over <em>nothing</em> and <em>everything</em>, fuck.</p>
<p>Pete looks back at the cars and suddenly worries he’s about to burst into tears. He’s suddenly very, very tired, and his kid is upstairs heartbroken because he can’t have something as simple as a birthday party, and the darkness is nibbling at Pete’s fingers, gobbling his veins as it looks for his arteries and finds its way into his heart, and if he can’t push this off he won’t be able to get out of bed soon.</p>
<p>“I don’t know if you should drive in this state,” says Patrick behind him.</p>
<p>And Patrick’s right, which is why Pete snaps, “Could you possibly mother-hen me any fucking more, Patrick?”</p>
<p>Patrick says nothing, which is even more fucking annoying. Fucking pandemic. There is nowhere to fucking <em>go</em> in a fucking pandemic. Pete feels like a tornado circling in one place, causing massive localized destruction right here to this one house, this one family.</p>
<p>He hears Patrick go back into the house, and he sits on their front step and puts his head in his hands and tries to fucking breathe.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Pete’s not sure how long he sits there. It grows dark around him. He’s upset Patrick didn’t try to coax him back into the house because Pete would have enjoyed being surly and sullen and refusing. He finally stands up at one point and goes inside just because he wants to lay down and the front walk isn’t comfortable.</p>
<p>Inside, he can hear Tennyson laughing, and the rumble of Patrick’s voice in counterpoint. Patrick got Tennyson to come downstairs, Patrick’s making Tennyson laugh, Patrick is fucking better at <em>everything</em> than Pete is and he always has been and Pete is so, so lucky to have him.</p>
<p>Pete goes upstairs and crawls into bed and has the thought that if he died here, right now, in this instant, probably Patrick and Tennyson would be better off, they wouldn’t have to put up with him and his moods and his making-things-worse. This is a bad thought, Pete can recognize clinically. But he can’t help that it’s how he <em>feels</em>. He’s a drag on this household. Patrick would run it so efficiently, so sunnily, so effortlessly. Whereas Pete can barely figure out which way is even up, never mind run this household.</p>
<p>He senses Patrick standing in the bedroom doorway more than he hears him. “What,” he asks miserably, dragging the word out of him. It takes enormous effort just to say one word, he really doesn’t want to have to have a conversation with Patrick.</p>
<p>There’s a pause, then Patrick says, “I need to run to the store. Will you be alright while I’m out?”</p>
<p>Pete would have begged Patrick not to go if he had the energy. He doesn’t want Patrick in the room with him, but he also doesn’t want Patrick to leave the house. But that seems like a lot to explain so he just replies, “Peachy,” and closes his eyes like maybe he’s so exhausted he’ll just sleep.</p>
<p>Ha! Pete really is hilarious, he wishes he had the energy to laugh.</p>
<p>He hears Patrick’s car start and pull away, and the emptiness of the bed and the bedroom and the house closes in on him. The house <em>isn’t</em> empty. Tennyson is sleeping just down the hall. Pete heard Patrick handle bedtime, because Patrick handles <em>everything</em>. Panic gives Pete energy, makes him leap out of bed and down the hallway. The door to Tennyson’s room is half-open, like Patrick anticipated Pete would need the reassurance. He probably fucking did. Bella, curled on Tennyson’s bed, looks at Pete curiously, like she’s never seen a human being have a nervous breakdown before. Tennyson sleeps.</p>
<p>Pete sinks to the floor outside Tennyson’s room, his back against the wrought-iron railing that runs along the hallway and overlooks the downstairs. He pulls his knees up to rest his forehead against them and tries to match his breaths to Tennyson’s deep, even ones.</p>
<p>This is how Patrick finds him when he comes home from the not-store.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Patrick murmurs softly, a hand on his shoulder. “Get up, come to bed.”</p>
<p>“You can just go, you know,” Pete mumbles into his thighs.</p>
<p>“Go?” Patrick echoes.</p>
<p>Apparently he’s going to play fucking dumb. “Go,” Pete repeats. “The way you wanted to. You know, when you made up your lie about going to the store.”</p>
<p>There’s a moment of silence. Patrick sits next to him on the floor and sighs. “How’d you know I was lying?”</p>
<p>“There’s a pandemic, Patrick.” Pete turns his head to rest his cheek to look at him. The lights are still on in the living area downstairs and they catch the gold in Patrick’s copper hair. “Nobody just runs to the store in the middle of a pandemic. Not <em>you</em>, anyway.”</p>
<p>Patrick looks back at him. “I’m sorry. I needed a second to…”</p>
<p>“To get up the energy to deal with me,” says Pete. “I get it.”</p>
<p>“You get in these moods, and you push me away, and I know this is when you most need me, and every single time I think I’m going to handle it better next time, I’m going to be perfect, and I never am,” says Patrick ruefully. “I never have been. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“You’re always fucking perfect, that’s what gets me in these moods,” says Pete.</p>
<p>“That is not true. Come to bed.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to go to bed,” says Pete sulkily.</p>
<p>“Fine, then we’ll sit up together.”</p>
<p>“God, you are so <em>fucking annoying</em>,” Pete says but dully, without heat.</p>
<p>“I know,” says Patrick, “I’m the worst.” He leans over and presses a kiss to the back of Pete’s neck, like his lips alone can fend off the darkness sticking to Pete. They never can but Patrick always tries. Pete doesn’t know if he appreciates the attempt or not, because Pete in these moods appreciates nothing. “I think we should go to bed, though.”</p>
<p>Pete shakes his head a little but it’s half-hearted. He lets Patrick pull him up and bundle him into bed. He lets Patrick curl close to him. He tries to <em>feel</em> Patrick but Patrick seems so very far away, even though he’s right next to him. Patrick feels like he’s knocking on the plastic barrier in between them, hoping for a conjugal visit.</p>
<p>Pete takes a shaky breath and says, “I wish Tennyson could have a party.” He’s abruptly all choked up over this. “He’s just a kid, he wants to have a party, he deserves to have a party, and I yelled at him.”</p>
<p>“Shh,” Patrick murmurs, his hand stroking down Pete’s back. “The pandemic is not your fault.”</p>
<p>“I’m the worst,” Pete mumbles against Patrick’s chest.</p>
<p>“You’re not.”</p>
<p>“I <em>am</em>. If you want to take Tennyson and move away, like, if you wanted custody, I wouldn’t fight you on that.”</p>
<p>“Pete, I’d tell you to stop this but you won’t listen right now, so just know, when you feel better tomorrow or the day after or the day after, know that I will <em>never </em>take Tennyson away from you, <em>not ever</em>, his heart would break, he loves you more than anything on the planet and you’re a great dad and you know this most of the time, your brain is being an asshole to you right now.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I wish you could take it out into an alley and teach it a lesson or two,” Pete says weakly.</p>
<p>“I would totally beat your brain up for you, God knows it beats up on you enough to deserve it,” sighs Patrick.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Pete says, because he feels <em>so</em> awful, and he’s never going to feel better, and Patrick’s going to have this terrible boyfriend he’s going to have to take care of forever. “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“Shh. Don’t apologize.”</p>
<p>“You should have a good boyfriend,” Pete says mournfully. This is the <em>saddest</em> thing. “Not an awful boyfriend. I don’t understand why you didn’t get yourself a <em>good</em> boyfriend.”</p>
<p>“I <em>have</em> a good boyfriend,” whispers Patrick, holding him tighter, tighter, impossibly tight. Pete wants to protest, he really does, but Patrick whispers, “I love you.” And again: “I love you.” And again: “I love you.” And again: “I love you.”</p>
<p><em>Stop</em>, Pete thinks. <em>That can’t possibly be true</em>. But he doesn’t say it out loud, because it would be really nice if that was true, it would be <em>really, really </em>nice.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Pete doesn’t sleep. He really wants to, but it’s not that kind of night. But Patrick holds onto him so tightly, keeps him tucked so close, that Pete doesn’t feel as desperate as he usually does when the clock ticks into the wee hours and he’s the only one awake. He listens to Patrick’s heartbeat and thinks of how Patrick is always there, even when he shouldn’t be, maybe especially when he shouldn’t be.</p>
<p>Pete gets up before Patrick can wake up and ask him solemnly how he feels, like, Pete feels like he can’t handle that at all. He goes downstairs and outside, crawling onto a chair by the pool and closing his eyes. It’s not quite dawn, and the birds are having their way in the trees all around him. This should be the most peaceful place in the entire universe but Pete feels like he’s at the edge of panic. He feels like he needs to run somewhere very far away, that he needs to do it very quickly, and at the same time he’s too tired to move.</p>
<p>There was a time when he had to work through the resistance in the air around a mood like this, when Tennyson had no one to make him breakfast or get him ready for school. Pete would go through the motions blearily, make noncommittal responses to his poor kid, and then, more often than not, crawl back into bed and beg Patrick for help. He doesn’t have to beg Patrick for help anymore. Patrick is <em>there</em>. The sun comes up and the household wakes up behind him, he can hear Tennyson running around and shouting things at Patrick – probably questions that are all about where things are located that are Tennyson’s responsibility for knowing the location of. Someone lets Bella out and she comes up to gaze at him curiously, shoving her muzzle up against him.</p>
<p>Pete doesn’t feel much like petting her but he makes himself do it. She wags her tail at him and whines a little and then leaves him be. Even the <em>dog</em> knows he’s useless, thinks Pete.</p>
<p>“Do you think you want to eat?” Patrick asks.</p>
<p>His voice startles Pete, makes him jump. He looks away from his contemplation of the swimming pool. “I’m not hungry,” says Pete.</p>
<p>“You should eat,” says Patrick, and puts a grilled cheese down on the table next to Pete. That table’s supposed to be for pretty cocktails with cute umbrellas. That’s what Pete thought when he bought it. Now it’s for grilled cheeses that Patrick, no cooking whiz, whips up for his pathetic boyfriend.</p>
<p>Pete looks at the grilled cheese and tries to drum up some kind of interest. He should tell Patrick thank you but he feels too miserable to be grateful. He wants to just be the kind of asshole he is, instead of pretending he’s a nice boyfriend.</p>
<p>“Also, aren’t you hot?” asks Patrick. “You’ve been baking in the sun all day.”</p>
<p>“What time is it?” Pete asks suddenly.</p>
<p>“Two o’clock.”</p>
<p>That surprises him in a vague way. He makes a little noise. “You’ve taken care of Tennyson all day.”</p>
<p>“He’s been playing Fortnite all day, trust me, I do not deserve any commendation for my parenting today.”</p>
<p>Pete suddenly thinks he’s going to cry, which he supposes is nice, at least he’s <em>feeling</em> something. “You shouldn’t have to do all this just because I’m so useless—”</p>
<p>Patrick leans over and kisses his forehead and Pete swallows the rest of his sentence in shock. “Don’t listen to your head, babe,” Patrick whispers. “Can you do me a favor and not listen to the inside of your head?”</p>
<p>Pete wants to do anything Patrick asks of him, he really does.</p>
<p>“Light that smoke, that one for giving up on me,” Patrick croons into Pete’s hair. “And one just ‘cause they’ll kill you sooner than my expectations.”</p>
<p>“What are you doing?” Pete asks, confused.</p>
<p>“Giving you something to listen to that’s not your head,” Patrick replies.</p>
<p>“Yeah, but <em>that</em> song?”</p>
<p>“What’s wrong with that song?”</p>
<p>“You’re never going to remember the words, for one.”</p>
<p>“To my favorite liar,” Patrick sings, “to my favorite scar.” He nudges Pete.</p>
<p>“To my favorite scar,” Pete repeats obediently.</p>
<p>“I could have died with you,” continues Patrick.</p>
<p>“Hmm,” Pete says skeptically. “So you remember the first few lines.”</p>
<p>“I hope you choke on those words, that kiss, that bottle,” sings Patrick, then pauses. “Something bury me in memory.”</p>
<p>“Confess,” Pete says. “It’s ‘confess, bury me in memory.’”</p>
<p>Patrick smiles at him like he’s done something extraordinary, sings, “Now ask yourself, yeah, out on the insides. Said I loved you…”</p>
<p>“But I lied,” Pete finishes for him.</p>
<p>“Said I loved you,” Patrick sings again, and kisses Pete’s temple.</p>
<p>Pete breathes against Patrick’s chest. He’s surprised that he feels somewhat lighter for some reason. He’s surprised that he feels <em>interested</em>. He doesn’t want it to stop. He says quickly, “Try ‘Dead on Arrival.’”</p>
<p>So Patrick does. Patrick sings every fucking song off Take This to Your Grave, just to give Pete something to listen to that’s not his head.</p>
<p>When he finishes, Pete breathes against him in the moment of silence, then says softly, “That album’s better than I remember it being.”</p>
<p>Patrick says in a low voice, “Come inside. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”</p>
<p>And Pete finds that doesn’t sound as insurmountable a task as it might have.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Tennyson is in the middle of a Fortnite raid. He says, “Hi, Dad,” and gives him a quick hug before going back to his game. The hug is an acknowledgment of Pete’s fragile state, but otherwise Tennyson just takes it in stride, and why shouldn’t he? His dad’s been broken for all of Tennyson’s life.</p>
<p>Patrick puts a plate of carrots and ranch dressing in front of Pete and presses a mug of chamomile tea into his hands, literally shaping Pete’s hands around the mug. He says, “Longfellow, tell your dad about your squad.”</p>
<p>Tennyson launches into an explanation of everyone he’s playing with. It’s too involved for Pete to really follow at the moment but he recognizes Patrick’s tactic: Give his head something to think about that’s not self-loathing. Pete also recognizes, dimly, that the fact that he can analyze Patrick’s tactics is a good sign, a sign of his brain reawakening into usefulness. But it still seems so far away as to be hopeless, this return to the kind of enthusiasm radiating from Tennyson. But he listens and he watches and he doesn’t even realize he’s eating until he’s finished the plate of carrots and Patrick’s hand is soft in his hair, his voice soft at his ear, asking if he wants more.</p>
<p>Pete shakes his head, leans into Patrick.</p>
<p>Tennyson and Patrick are talking to each other, and the give-and-take of their conversation rumbles over Pete, but he’s freed of the obligation of having to respond. They live their lives around him but it somehow doesn’t feel as despairing as he found it the night before, because he’s right here, literally in between them, and these lives around him make room from him and don’t seem to mind. Patrick’s fingertips trail over the nape of Pete’s neck absently, as he talks to Tennyson, and Pete exhales.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Pete wakes with his head pillowed in Patrick’s lap. Patrick is reading by the light of the lamp beside the couch. Otherwise, the house is dark and silent. Late enough for Tennyson to be in bed, then.</p>
<p>Pete mumbles, “You didn’t have to sit here with me,” even as he nuzzles at Patrick’s stomach.</p>
<p>Patrick makes a noncommittal sound, then closes the book. “How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>Pete thinks, then says, “Ashamed.”</p>
<p>“<em>Pete</em>,” Patrick says achingly, and strokes his hair.</p>
<p>“I have everything in the universe I could ever want, I have Tennyson and I have you, and still I manage to be like <em>this</em>.”</p>
<p>“That’s not how it works,” Patrick murmurs, “but I don’t know if you’re in a state yet to realize that.”</p>
<p>Pete’s silent for a moment, then says, “It’s not that I don’t realize I’m being irrational. It’s not like I don’t know everything is fine and I should be happy and I <em>want</em> to be, I tell myself to be, but I still feel like <em>this</em>.”</p>
<p>“I know,” says Patrick, fingers stroking through his hair. “But you won’t feel like this forever. I promise.”</p>
<p>Pete breathes against Patrick, hiding his face, and tries to let himself relax into Patrick’s petting. He mumbles, “Tennyson went to bed?”</p>
<p>“It’s late,” Patrick replies.</p>
<p>“Poor kid, gotta just deal with his broken-ass dad all the time.” Pete feels his mouth twist into a moue of disgust at himself.</p>
<p>“That is not how he thinks of you. You’re not broken, and you’re not something he has to deal with. If I asked him tomorrow if we should take off so we wouldn’t have to deal with you, he’d kick me out of the house in horror. You know these things already, you’ve just got to remember them.”</p>
<p>Pete knows Tennyson loves him but he still thinks Tennyson probably wishes he had a dad who didn’t do this shit to him. Pete doesn’t say that, though, because he’s aware enough to know that Patrick will refute this.</p>
<p>Patrick says, “Have I ever told you…?” and trails off.</p>
<p>“Told me what?” Pete prompts him.</p>
<p>“When Tennyson was four, I took him for the night one night. You had a hot date or something.”</p>
<p>Pete rolls onto his back and scowls up at Patrick. “I didn’t have a hot date.”</p>
<p>“You definitely did.”</p>
<p>“I probably <em>told</em> you I did so I wouldn’t seem pathetic. I probably just sat around eating Cheetos and watching Lifetime movies.”</p>
<p>“You had a hot date, Wentz, face it. Hot chicks wanted to fuck you, it was a whole <em>thing</em>, just own up to it.”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t a <em>thing</em>,” Pete retorts, “like, what’s that, a phase women went through? Their Pete Wentz phase?”</p>
<p>“Women definitely go through Pete Wentz phases, don’t even fucking pretend not to remember the Tiger Beat years.”</p>
<p>“That is entirely different from this alleged hot date, I mean, I probably was thinking of you the whole time.”</p>
<p>“No, you weren’t, you still had me stuck in my Schrodinger box,” says Patrick.</p>
<p>Pete makes a startled noise. “Yes! That’s right! You made the right reference!”</p>
<p>“See, I pay attention to every convoluted thought process you try to tell me about,” Patrick says, tapping Pete’s temple. “Anyway, do you want to hear about this sleepover Tennyson and I had?”</p>
<p>“I guess,” Pete says, “what did you do while I wasn’t on my hot date?”</p>
<p>Patrick rolls his eyes, a soft, fond smile pulling at his mouth, and says, “I took him to an arcade.”</p>
<p>“Oh, wow, remember when we could go to arcades?” says Pete wistfully.</p>
<p>“Uh-huh. And there were so many kids running around. Like, I think of it now and I shudder at how filthy everything must have been. But he was having such a great time, running from machine to machine, I must have spent a hundred bucks getting us enough tickets to win him a whoopie cushion—”</p>
<p>“Wait, I <em>do</em> remember this,” Pete interrupts. “I remember him coming home with the whoopie cushion.”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh, yes, you had a hot date.”</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck,” Pete realizes, “I <em>did</em> have a hot date. She <em>was</em> super hot.”</p>
<p>“See?”</p>
<p>“I forgot I used to go on hot dates,” Pete continues thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, let’s all reminisce about that,” says Patrick.</p>
<p>Pete focuses on him. “I mean, not that I don’t still go on hot dates, now I go on the <em>hottest</em> dates.”</p>
<p>“With who?” asks Patrick.</p>
<p>Pete frowns. “You!”</p>
<p>“We don’t go on dates. We can’t leave the house.”</p>
<p>“As soon as we can leave the house again, I’m taking you on a date,” says Pete.</p>
<p>“Can I finish my arcade story?”</p>
<p>“Oh, the point wasn’t that you got our kid an annoying whoopie cushion?”</p>
<p>“Shut up, you had an annoying whoopie cushion on our van with us when you twenty-fucking-two years old, he was <em>four</em>.”</p>
<p>“Exactly, a twenty-two-year-old can handle a whoopie cushion with elegance and elan, a four-year-old has no clue, he was very gauche about it.”</p>
<p>“The whoopie cushion really isn’t the point of the story,” says Patrick.</p>
<p>“Alright, fine, tell me the point of the story,” says Pete patiently.</p>
<p>“The point is, all these kids were running around, screaming their heads off, it was mass chaos, and we took a break to have some pizza, and I’m sitting there having pizza with Tennyson, and he looks at me, so serious, so truly puzzled, and he says, ‘It really is so sad that their dads aren’t Dad.’ Like, that’s what he was sitting there thinking of: that he felt bad for all those kids who didn’t have you as a dad.”</p>
<p>Pete has never heard that story before. He thinks of the tiny four-year-old version of Tennyson, a version that feels impossibly far away even though it was only a few years ago, and the way he would curl up on Pete’s lap and cuddle with him while Pete read Tolkien to him. Pete says, “That was before he…”</p>
<p>Patrick says, “Shut up, he hasn’t changed his mind about that.”</p>
<p>Pete looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully.</p>
<p>Patrick says softly, “And you just had an entire conversation with me. You’re feeling better.”</p>
<p>Pete takes a deep breath, considering. He does feel better, he thinks. It feels marginally easier to breathe.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” he replies.</p>
<p>“How about a shower?” Patrick suggests gently.</p>
<p>Pete considers this proposal very carefully, then says, “Okay. I think so. Yes.” </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>They shower together. Patrick treats him like he’s made of porcelain, with the potential to shatter and slice them up. He’s not wrong. Pete feels a little more like himself when his hair is washed and he’s scrubbed pink, when Patrick’s rubbed him dry with a fuzzy towel and sweetly bopped a kiss on his nose. He also feels <em>exhausted</em>, which is silly, he just slept. But hey, whatever, sleeping is better than not sleeping.</p>
<p>“You’re such a good caretaker,” Pete murmurs to Patrick as they curl up in bed together.</p>
<p>“I’m so glad you think so,” Patrick replies, and then Pete surrenders to his sleepiness.</p>
<p>He wakes up in the morning, and sits up, and gets out of bed. And he thinks to himself, <em>Huh. That actually wasn’t that bad</em>. He gets dressed experimentally. A shower seems like a lot of effort but the putting on of new clothes doesn’t seem pointless. He dresses and he goes downstairs.</p>
<p>Patrick’s making breakfast and Tennyson’s reading a book out loud to him at the kitchen table while he waits. He says, “Hi, Dad,” in such obvious delight, because Tennyson recognizes there was no guarantee Pete was making it to the breakfast table today.</p>
<p>Patrick cuts off Pete’s guilt before it fully develops, kissing him firmly before saying, “Omelet?”</p>
<p>“I…” Pete’s not hungry but he’s aware he should eat, and Patrick and Tennyson want him to eat, and so he says, “Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Guess what?” Tennyson says to him as he sits next to him at the table.</p>
<p>“What?” asks Pete.</p>
<p>“Patrick said, if you were feeling up to it, we could go for a ride today.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Pete says awkwardly. He doesn’t know if he feels up to it. “You two should go without me, I’m sure—”</p>
<p>“We’re not going <em>without</em> you,” Tennyson cuts him off, frowning. “We’ll go when you feel better, it’s no big thing.”</p>
<p>Tennyson’s matter-of-fact acceptance that Pete is necessary and also that Pete will eventually feel better makes Pete’s day feel actually doable. He says, trying the idea out in his head, “I don’t know, maybe a drive could be nice.”</p>
<p>Patrick smiles at him as he slides an omelet in front of him.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>They drive along the coast, aimless and meandering. Tennyson demands they put the windows down and open the sunroof. Bella sticks her head out in joy, tongue lolling out, and the pair of them are so delighted in the backseat, it’s so sweet. Patrick is trying to do a music lesson, saying, “Pay attention, pay attention, this chord progression right here, what makes it so awesome, what’s so brilliant about it?”</p>
<p>Tennyson is only half-paying attention to Patrick because he’s busy ranking the cars on the road in order of which one he most wants to buy when he’s able to drive. They’re talking past each other, Tennyson and Patrick, as they drive down the coast with the radio blasting, and Pete feels himself breathe and has the very conscious thought, <em>This is good</em>. And it’s not him trying to convince himself of it, it’s just a simple flash of recognition. This is good, and he can feel that it’s good.</p>
<p>Patrick breezes them through an In ‘n’ Out and then pulls off into an overlook. They sit in the car with greasy goodness on their laps and Pete eats French fries and looks at the vastness of the Pacific Ocean in front of them. It’s very beautiful. Pete misses Chicago almost every day, more now that they can’t go visit, but fuck, he’s lucky that his second-place city’s got views like this.</p>
<p>He breathes deep and says, “I think I’m feeling better.”</p>
<p>Tennyson says, “Of course you are.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Pete puts Tennyson to bed, and he can tell Tennyson is coddling him because they don’t even have to have a negotiation about screentime before bed, Tennyson just tucks up in bed with Bella.</p>
<p>Pete leans over him and kisses his forehead softly and murmurs, “I love you a whole lot. I never don’t love you a whole lot.”</p>
<p>“Same,” Tennyson says, and smiles sunnily at him, then turns over in the bed. Tennyson sleeps <em>aggressively</em>, tackling his way into it. He has ever since he was a baby. Pete lets a hand linger over Tennyson’s fine blonde hair and thinks of the ways he and Tennyson have grown up together and the ways in which they’ve stayed exactly the same.</p>
<p>Then he goes downstairs to find Patrick sitting in front of the Xbox. “Raid with me,” he says, gesturing to the other controller.</p>
<p>Pete smiles and sits down next to him, grabbing the controller. He says, “I can do that.”</p>
<p>Patrick smiles back. “I know you can,” he replies, and leans forward to press a fervent kiss to Pete’s temple.</p>
<p>Pete closes his eyes and just breathes for a second, feels himself rippling back into his skin, settling back into his life. It’s a soft landing on welcoming ground, and that’s what Patrick and Tennyson do now, that’s what makes these moods different than when Pete was younger: there’s someone around now to take him in for the right kind of landing, to buff him up patiently until eventually, Pete knows, he will feel as good as new.</p>
<p>And the fact that Pete <em>knows</em> that now, that he’s on the upswing, that it’s going to get better – it’s a soft kernel glowing inside him.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Pete wakes up in the morning totally capable of getting out of bed. The smug part of him in the driver’s seat now is like, <em>What the hell is so hard about that?</em> The part of him that’s always permanently curled up in a ball is like, <em>Fuck you, it can be fucking hard and I will never let you really forget that</em>. Pete knows that part of him is still in there, that eventually it’ll come back, but at the moment Pete can breathe without wanting to cry, and the sunshine is made of sunshine again instead of dust and grime, and Pete actually wants to live this day, and the next, and the next, actively and stubbornly, he can’t wait for Tennyson and Patrick to wake up.</p>
<p>He grabs a mask and ventures out to procure doughnuts as a special treat. He steals the chocolate-sprinkled one for himself but it’s okay because Tennyson is a weird kid who doesn’t like <em>chocolate</em>, of all things, and Patrick prefers powdered sugar. Tennyson joins him on the patio with his strawberry-frosted doughnut and beams at him.</p>
<p>“Good morning, Dad,” he says.</p>
<p>“Good morning, kid,” Pete replies.</p>
<p>“You got us doughnuts, huh?”</p>
<p>“No, the doughnut fairy stopped by.”</p>
<p>Tennyson makes a face at him and hugs him hard and tight.</p>
<p>“I’m okay,” Pete promises him, and kisses the side of his head and just breathes with him for a second. Tennyson grows in leaps and bounds, Pete blinks and the kid sprouts up another foot and adds another year or two, and Pete knows someday he will inevitably forget how these little-boy hugs feel. But right now, he holds Tennyson close and tries to memorize. “I’m okay,” he murmurs again.</p>
<p>“I know,” Tennyson says. “I know.”</p>
<p>Pete gathers himself, leans away from Tennyson. “I’m sorry about the birthday party.”</p>
<p>“Patrick says I can have a half-birthday party in January. And, if things are still bad in January, he says I can have two epic birthday parties next summer, one after the other. Consecutive weekends, he said.”</p>
<p>Of course he did, thinks Pete. Patrick would definitely have tried to find a way to make Tennyson feel better.</p>
<p>“And,” Tennyson continues, “he says we’re still going to have a cake and stuff.”</p>
<p>“Of course. And we’ll Zoom everyone in.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean to make you sad,” Tennyson says suddenly.</p>
<p>“Hey.” Pete’s tone is sharp, as he catches Tennyson’s chin between his fingers to make sure he’s looking at him. “That wasn’t you. That had nothing to do with you.”</p>
<p>“That’s what Patrick said, too, but—”</p>
<p>“Nope.” Pete shakes his head. “It’s just the way my brain is. It’s not anyone’s fault.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Tennyson nods.</p>
<p>“That’s what Patrick said?” Pete guesses.</p>
<p>“Always. That’s what Patrick always says about you. Your brain isn’t always nice to you, so we just be extra-nice then to make up for it.”</p>
<p>“I appreciate that,” says Pete, trying not to get too choked up over how fucking lucky he is to have these two looking out for him like this. He doesn’t succeed.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>That night, after Tennyson is in bed, Patrick says, “What do you want to watch?” and Pete says, “Thank you.”</p>
<p>Patrick lifts his eyebrows at him. “For…soliciting your input?”</p>
<p>“For being so good to me. Over the past couple of days.”</p>
<p>Patrick frowns. “Pete. Don’t thank me—”</p>
<p>“No.” Pete shakes his head. “No one else would put up with me. No one else would—”</p>
<p>“Shut up. I put up with a lot when it comes to you, but not the past few days.”</p>
<p>Pete sits next to him on the couch, morose. “You put up with more than I do.”</p>
<p>“Get out of your head,” Patrick tells him fondly, and kisses the side of it, then tugs him in until he gives in and cuddles. “Look, when this all came on, and you were picking fights with me, I knew <em>exactly </em>what was going to happen and I fucking ran away, so let’s not crown me with sainthood or whatever.”</p>
<p>“I don’t blame you for running away.”</p>
<p>“You should. I do.”</p>
<p>Pete turns to look at him. “Patrick—”</p>
<p>“I always want to be better for you in those moments, and I never am.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think you can ace it,” Pete tells him. “It’s not the SAT.”</p>
<p>“No, if there’s one thing you’re not, you’re not the SAT,” Patrick agrees solemnly. Then he tangles a hand in Pete’s hair and says, “I love you a lot.”</p>
<p>And Pete isn’t quite in the right headspace to grasp why yet but he recognizes the truth of it, lets it swell in his chest until the pink of it all drowns out the lingering blackness. He says, “Thanks for being great with Tennyson.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, everyone else is out there living their lives like this whole fucking pandemic is just a joke and here I am, I won’t let your kid have a birthday party.”</p>
<p>“Our kid. And I wouldn’t let him have a birthday party, either,” Pete says. “So thanks for the backup. And if <em>we’re</em> the ones being irrational, well, whatever, Tennyson will have two parties next year to make up for it.”</p>
<p>“I asked if he wanted Fall Out Boy to play at them and he was so embarrassed at just the <em>idea</em>, I thought he was going to try to find a way into witness protection.”</p>
<p>Pete snorts joyous laughter.</p>
<p>“We’re not cool enough to play at your kid’s birthday party, what do you think about that?” Patrick continues.</p>
<p>“Patrick, we were never cool,” Pete reminds him.</p>
<p>“Dude, Joe and Andy are so offended right now,” Patrick replies.</p>
<p>“Okay, Joe and Andy were always cool. It’s a mystery why they put up with the two of us.”</p>
<p>“You’re charming,” says Patrick. “It’s a mystery why they put up with <em>me</em>.”</p>
<p>“I’m not charming,” Pete scoffs. “You’re in love with me, you’ve got a weird definition of ‘charming’ that happens to line up perfectly with what I am, lucky us.”</p>
<p>“I’m in love with you,” Patrick agrees. “Good to hear you say it. Now admit that I can be a stubborn, pigheaded asshole sometimes.”</p>
<p>“You can be a stubborn, pigheaded asshole,” Pete repeats obediently.</p>
<p>“Good.” Patrick nods.</p>
<p>Pete leans forward to kiss him, can’t help it. “Do we have a weird relationship?”</p>
<p>“Fuckin’ A,” Patrick mumbles into the kiss.</p>
<p>Pete smiles, and Patrick kisses deep and well, and Pete’s brain lets this thought bubble up: <em>It’s pretty good to be Pete Wentz</em>.</p>
<p>Pete exhales the last of his blackness, and Patrick catches it and turns it golden.</p>
<p> </p>
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